Harvesters
by Eoin Coleman
Summary: Something is happening to people around the world. Something very unnatural. Something wrong...But someone is trying to stop it. Someone sees the wrong in it. Someone is taking the problem right back to the source. With a bit of killing along the way...


The Story of the Ages

Prologue

The old tree by the town's river had exploded into bud, some branches already bearing leaves. It's huge gnarled mass of roots extending to a few inches from the bank just so happened to be a perfect seat for those seeking comfort. A lonely youth, no older than seventeen sat in the tangle, staring at his reflection in the peaceful waters. His main focus was on his eyes. He stared deep into the grey irises, unable to find what should be there. Not two weeks gone, they had been a deep blue. But then so much else had changed in that time besides. His red hair was now thin and scraggly, drooping around his face and obscuring his vision slightly while his skin had turned an almost milk colour white. He still retained his tall height though.

He was dying, but there was nothing he could do and everyone in town knew it too, thinking he was the first victim of some unheard of disease. No one spoke to him anymore because he screamed at anyone who tried. Indeed he had slipped up and he was paying the price slowly. This spot by the river was where he spent all of his time now, and there wasn't long more to wait. He could feel his end coming and he longed for it to pick up the pace.

A distant noise brought him back to his surroundings. Someone was running along the bank of the river. Now getting closer he saw they were not running but sprinting. As this person was speeding by he caught sight of the youth between the growth and stopped.

"Boy hey!" he panted out frantically "Got a horse or anythin'?" The youth tried to understand what was being asked but his mind worked a lot slower than usual these days. "Hey! You listenin' to me boy? D'you got a horse or anythin' that rides fast? I needs one now!" The youth stood up.

"A horse."

"Yes that's what I said!"

"Oh. Okay. I have a horse."

"You do?" the man asked excitedly "Perfect luck! How much you want for it?" The youth stared for a while as the clogs turned slowly in his head.

"Want for It." he repeated to himself. Then a slow grin spread across his face. "What you got?"

"Anything you want boy just tell me where the horse is."

"Anything?"

"That's what I said boy." The man said looking back down his trail anxiously.

"I only want one thing."

"Name it!" The boy smiled for the first time in two weeks.

"I want you to give me your soul." The man paused for a few seconds to take that in and began to chuckle.

"Give you my soul eh?" he laughed "How exactly do I do that, may I ask?"

"Very easy my friend. Just say that you give your soul to me."

"That's all?"

"Yes"

"And I get a horse?"

"Yes"

"What is your name then?" The youth flinched as he answered this question.

"Karl"

"Then Karl! I hereby give you my soul for the price of one horse! Now where is it?" Karl pointed over at a curve in the river by a small patch of trees where a shape moved by the water. The man covered the distance to it in record time laughing aloud and thanking his luck and fortune. Karl stood where he was and did the same thing. With a yawn he lay down into the comfortable tangles again and rested his eyes. When he awoke an hour later he felt really hungry. He felt a bit stronger too. He looked into the river to see his reflection.

"Hey boy!" he whooped "What nice brown eyes you've got!"

The Service 

"Yeah mister! I know the fellow who done that! Everyone does! Yesterday bein' market day and all" the young boy exclaimed excitedly. The two men rubbed their temples as they looked at each other.

"Very well. Tell your piece." The taller of them said. The boy nodded enthusiastically and launched into it.

"Well yesterday mornin' about an hour before noon this stranger shows up. Ain't nothin unusual about strangers round here nor this guy 'cept he's carrying a sword, right! This draws a few eyes cause it's a nice sword, right! And folks don't really use them no more. Well he goes up to the arena register and says 'Who's champion?'" the boy put on a deep voice in mimic of his character "right, now this gets everyone real interested and a crowd gathers while the arena secretary gets Ben, the champion. Ain't no one challenged him in a few weeks and things was getting borin' round here so word spread real fast and everyone in town shows up, even the travellers, right! Well this guy steps up onto the Stone and waits for Ben to arrive. He didn't look nervous up there and he wasn't stretchin' or nothin'. He was makin' jokes with the older folks and chattin' up the pretties. Then Ben shows up and demands time to warm up. This guy waits some more without complainin' and makes laughs with the crowd.

Then Ben's ready and the secretary asks if it's to the death. Ben looks to the stranger and the stranger just shrugs, right! So Ben says 'to the death' cause he don't like bein' shown up and he picks up his sword cause our "stone" don't allow guns even if they have em' cause if they miss they can kill a normal person. So the stranger just stares at him like he don't know it's started or somethin'. Ben charges him and the stranger moves aside at the last second dodgin' his sword and punches Ben in the side of his neck. Ben staggers, right and the stranger does nothin'. Then Ben makes another attack, more careful this time, but still he doesn't get the man. Stranger didn't draw his sword once while Ben is slashing at him and then Ben gets mad. He throws his sword at the stranger and the man just looks straight ahead, right! And at the last second he does some kinda crazy spin and rolls and catches the hilt right out of the air!" the boy was panting now, from matching actions with words. Never the less he hadn't finished and the taller man pushed him on.

"After that? Get on with it!" the boy nodded again as he drew breath.

"Well the stranger was very friendly and bought a lot of drinks for everyone after he won the fight. Took with him a lot of coin from that fight and it didn't hurt none to share a bit around. Bout half ways through the celebratin' a call comes from outside. Twelve lawmen are waitin' outside, right! See these guys was lookin' for this stranger and Ben kinda recognised his description or somethin', and so he tipped them off when the stranger had beaten him on the "Stone".

Well the stranger looks outside the door, takes a big gulp o beer and steps out to them. The guy in charge takes a step forward and calls out somethin' like 'You are under arrest for the murder of Lord "somethin or other" and are to be taken to the City Jailhouse for judgement.' Well this doesn't bode well for the stranger and he don't reply to him. Taking another step forward, with his guards around him, the captin produces a chain. At the same moment as the chain was drawn, the stranger was suddenly holding his sword and dagger. And I must say Sirs that he was what one o' them old generals from long ago must look like! He rammed into the soldiers and his blades were flashin' crazy! They had no time to draw their guns cause he was on them so fast! I still don't really believe it myself but when the last man to fall hit the ground, the stranger was still standin'. Not any from the town dared speak a word I swears on my life! He wiped the blood onto a body and he left. And that was last night just after sunset. Don't know where he's gone to but I sure hope to see him again!" he finished, swaying on his heels as he tried to catch his breath.

The taller man flicked him a silver coin and he keeled over in excitement.

"So" the taller one muttered "we're going to town."

"Think it's him?"

"It's very possible"

Two hours later they strolled into the place spoken of in the story. Carts were rolling out of town, while townsfolk were going about their chores. They pulled their neckerchiefs up to shield from the dust being kicked up in the commotion. The taller one nodded in the direction of "The Stone" and they made their way over, avoiding the bustle of people flowing back and forth. Once over, they entered a small tent just beside it. Inside they found an old man hunched over a cluttered desk.

They stood in front of the secretary's table and waited for him to look up in surprise.

"Yes? Are you here to fight?" he enquired, adjusting his spectacles to get a better focus of them. They looked at each other before turning back to him. The smaller one smiled.

"No, not us. There was a fight here yesterday between a local man and a stranger from out of town. Correct?" The secretary seemed to be trying very hard to recall, then a light shone in his eyes.

"Ah yes! The Stranger. An excellent fighter if I recall rightly. Yes indeed, beat an armed man without drawing his sword you know! Never in all my days…. What is it you would like to know?"

"The registry for the fight. We need the names." There was a pause as the old man stared at them.

"Sorry now, Ben signed as usual but the stranger, he didn't sign the registry with his name. You don't have to if you're not liking the idea of fame. So he just signed with 'X'. But hey! Why you needing his name?" The two men looked at each other again before turning back to him.

"Some places keep an artist around 'Stones' to sketch the fighters. Do you have one here?" the smaller one enquired.

"Why yes we do as a matter o' fact."

"The location?"

"You're looking at him." the old secretary smiled a half-toothless grin. "So why are you needing his picture?" The two men rubbed their temples. Very slowly the smaller one said:

"We are looking for the man. At least we think we are. We need the picture to be sure." The old man stroked his chin thoughtfully then nodded. Muttering under his breath he rummaged under his desk and pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a very nicely ornate pen.

"This is the name and address of the man who has it. I lend them to him because he draws let's say…motion pictures of the fighters. But as a hobby not a job of course." He said this as his hand flowed gently across the page. Before he handed it over he said, "I assume you are of the Service, otherwise I wouldn't be giving you this."

The two remained silent.

"Of course you're not. How foolish of me." The old man muttered as he handed the paper over. The men gave him a hard stare that left him in a quiet disposition. They ducked under the door to the tent and were in the street again.

"Where?" the taller one asked.

"A mile back." They took a moment and rubbed their temples. Then they left town at a very fast pace.

Ten minutes later they were outside a small cottage in a bit from the dust road. They couldn't help but notice that it was the kind you saw in children's pictures of a perfect paradise. It had the red door, green trimmings along the edge of the windows, straw roof, stone chimney all set against the clear white wall. And just off to the left was a glorious apple tree with children playing beneath it.

They looked at each other before the taller one knocked on the door. For a while they waited very impatiently and nothing happened. He knocked again but this time with a force that shook the door in it's frame. A young boy from the tree came closer.

"They're not in! Gone to town!" he shouted over. The two men looked at each other. Then, very angrily, the taller one kicked the door in, ripping it free of its hinges. They entered the two-roomed cottage and rummaged through every pile of drawings they laid eyes on. There were dozens of fruits, old men drinking, carts on a dirt road, trees, leaves, flowers, women, buildings and well over a hundred of children playing under a very familiar apple tree. No fighters. The taller one stood up from the heap and stepped out again.

"You." He called to the boy who still stood, shocked at what he had seen "Where does the man draw his pictures?"

The young lad looked to his friends for support but found them still playing under the tree oblivious to the robbery. He was the oldest by far and, so, the one responsible for them. The taller one could see the boy's priorities all around him. A step forward might push him in the right direction….

"Over there!" the boy shouted pointing to a row of bushes at the back of the cottage. A small hut stood between two small bushes facing out over the apple fields. The taller one, joined by the smaller one made straight for it with the obvious intention of one about to ram through something.

"It's usually open!" the boy cried just in time. The taller one hesitated, returned his foot to the ground and tried the handle. The door swung open, caught by a small breeze, and papers rose up from their stacks in a flurry. There were far more drawings in here than in the two-roomed house. They rubbed their temples at the sight of the mess then began searching for any new looking pictures.

As they carried out their task they were suddenly aware of someone approaching the hut. Without hesitation they rose and greeted the furious man that came around the corner of the cottage.

"Thieves!" he screamed at them "Vandals! Scum! Look what you've done to my door! I swear you'll pay! I –"

"Pay? Yes, of course." The taller one tossed a gold coin over to the man. "We have spoken to the secretary. You have the picture of the fighter from yesterday. We want it." laid out all simple.

The raging house owner's jaw jammed. He looked at the coin while keeping an eye on the intruders. Confusion covered his face like a veil.

"You want a drawing?" he asked weakly.

"Yes. The fighter from yesterday."

A few seconds past as the man looked from the thieves to the gold coin. His fingers closed around it, he nodded his head and looked up. "On the inside of the door there is a thin box with paper in it. The front piece has the drawing you want."

The smaller one investigated this evidence and returned, unrolling a sheet. When he reached the taller one they both stared at the picture. The taller one looked up at the man.

"This never happened." The words were spoken more as a fact rather than a warning. Without even knowing why the artist nodded agreement and watched silently as the two men departed. Out on the dust road the two men picked up the pace as they headed back to town. They'd found their man.

"At long bloody last" the taller one muttered.

Miles and miles away, a very tired figure of a man made it's way across an open dry desert land. He carried a full canteen of water around his neck and nothing else. Though he did have a cheap straw hat that gave very minor relief to the burning sun and had at this stage begun to slowly fall apart. As should be expected, his skin was peeling in places and in others it had reached the point of giving up entirely. It was just too damned hot!

"Not a drop to be taken!" he spat or at least tried to spit from his parched mouth. He stared angrily at the canteen. "What am I doing? This is crazy!" a pause as he shook his head. An evil gleam shone in his eyes "Crazy? That bastard _must_ die!" His pace quickened considerably.

Chapter 1 So many years later… 

Determining whether the man was a threat or not was quite easy.

His aura clearly stated he was there to kill someone, as the sense of building excitement was very distinguished from other types of emotion. It spelt murder, fighting, sexual encounters or sometimes sport. The man was leaning against a pillar, the depiction of casual boredom, and so clearly not doing three of the four. No, he was definitely there to kill the bartender…unless he had some sort of odd fantasy of the old woman. Very unlikely. Rival observed the man a little more from his seat near the window.

A brown coat with matching pants finely made indicated he was wealthy. That would mean a gun perhaps. Though at this time of night he would wake half the city up with a gunshot. A knife then, hidden somewhere up his sleeve or tied to his belt. Best wait here awhile, he thought leaning back with his drink.

An hour past and the place emptied slowly for the night. It was well past midnight and he had places to be. The would be killer had pulled up a stool and still waited patiently by the pillar. Well, he appeared to be patient but really he was dying of the opposite. That makes him a rookie then. Rival could take no more himself. He had rounds to attend to and this guy was holding him up. Rising from his table he strolled across the room and up to the bar. He beckoned the old woman over with a tap of the glass on the counter and she left her conversation with a young drunk.

"Another one, dear?" she asked taking the glass from him.

"Pardon me but I have to be going now. Just thought you might like to know about the man near that pillar over there." He raised his thumb over his shoulder. "He's here to kill you."

"Really?" she said without even a glance at where he indicated.

"Er…yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, very"

"OK then." And then she grinned. She radiated confidence.

So she is already on top of things then. What is she mixed up in, he wondered? He had to be going though. He tipped his hat and wished her luck.

"It's not me who needs it." she laughed.

Worst luck, he thought to himself in the alley outside. The guy's first job and he's sent for her. Yeah sure he's fit for the noose but no one deserves luck like that. Give a man a fighting chance at least!

"Ah to hell with it…" he muttered "I'll call back later". He produced a brown paper bag from the inside of his torn up jacket. Reaching down to the gutter he picked up a bottle which he placed inside the bag. Then through the back alleys he loped across the city towards the outskirts keeping alert for any of the bastards.

The best place to look was on the outskirts. It was here that you would find the poorest of the city. And "where there is poverty, you find a harvester". You would find people selling themselves for the hope of a better life only to find, that in order to get it, they now have to join the group and get themselves back. Thus is the cycle of the harvesters.

As he turned down past Martin's street, infamous for it's restaurants, he felt one. He slowed his pace and pulled his ragged hood up over his head. Adapting the style of a blind drunk he pushed on up the alley. As he approached the next turnoff he caught sight of the figure. It was conversing with a small man who had terribly pale skin. The man looked frightened, as he should, considering who he was talking to. Easing himself along the wall prodding ahead gently with his free hand he watched the transaction between the two.

The figure was speaking calmly "…and when you get there you must wait. He will come to you. When he does you be sure to give him my name. Be very sure you do that. He will give you one for sustenance, though you must know it's not the same. And the rest…is up to you of course." The little man nodded sadly as he listened. Rival felt for him. He really did. But it was his own damn fault and it was too late to rectify.

He pushed himself off the wall in a very drunk like fashion and staggered in their direction. The Harvester glanced his way before returning his gaze to the small bald man whom was just staring at the ground. As Rival was passing behind the hooded figure, at a speed quite close to impossible, he rushed sideways hands rising. But the harvester had him called. He, very smoothly, twirled around and planted a very solid kick to Rival's chest. Rival smashed into the wall across the alley, suspended there for a few seconds by the huge dent his impact had caused, and then fell to the ground with some falling bricks. Blood trickled from his mouth to form a small pool with the filth around him. And then…

"His Light has gone out." The small bald man whispered "I felt it go out…"

"Get used to it alright. It's a long job. Now if we're done here I'm hoping there are more to be picked tonight - " and that is all he got to say before his head was twisted violently to the left. This was not to his own accord mind you. He had been murdered. There was a loud CRACK and then his body hit the ground. The small bald man looked up in terror at the man he had just seen die moments before. His trembling voice tried to explain this.

"You w-w-were D-D-D-D-DEAD!" he whined desperately. Rival waved his hands over his body as if to say "Well here I am!". The small man regained control of his legs and attempted a quick get away. Before he had fully turned his head in the direction of his escape Rival planted a firm hand on the man's shoulder. He began to cry.

"Look!" Rival said to him "You are going to die. If not now then several weeks from now. Surely you can feel it already. You may think that you can join the Harvesters. But I'm telling you that if you do, you _will_ end like him." he motioned to the body by his leg. Then he leant in real close to the trembling man and uttered four words no one wants to hear in a situation like this. "Which will it be?"

The man burst into a bawling heap on the cobblestones. Between breaths he wailed "I wanna live! PLEASE let me live!" Rival stepped back.

"OK." He said. And moved on without a glance back.

Pausing for a moment he examined himself in a shop window. He was covered in dust and had blood coming from his mouth.

"So stupid…" he muttered dabbing at it with a cloth he produced from his pocket. To survive an impact like that and spoil it by biting your tongue. How…stupid. He swung his jacket behind him and was about to bash it off the wall to clear off the dust when he stopped. He put it back on and examined himself again in the window. It made him look poorer. Perfect luck.

He turned the next corner onto what was, unofficially, the slums of the city. The street was deserted of all life save for a man wearing the signature armband approaching him.

"Hey buddy you look roughed up." he stated "Going through some tough times?"

This was a very friendly way of starting it off. The man had twelve souls. Could be pretty hard if he has been training in some way.

So Rival played along for just a bit.

"Oh you wouldn't believe me if I told you what I've been going through. At this stage, neither would I."

"Oh really? Money problems?"

"Just to start with. I've got this damn thing to deal with aswell" Rival produced a piece of paper but let it fall "accidentally" to the ground.

"Allow me." the man said bending down to pick it up. As his head went down, Rival's knee came up and drove itself with considerable force into the Harvester's face. As is to be expected from things like this, the man was a bit disorrientated as he tumbled backwards onto the cracked cobblestoned street.

. He tried to come to terms with current events. Through watered eyes he could see the outline of the man bending down to him. This wasn't how it worked. If anyone was to be hit, it was him who was supposed to do the hitting.

"What's going on here? You'd better explain yourself" he managed as he tried to straighten up.

"I'm saving the lives of twelve people." Rival reached out and grabbed the man's head firmly. There was an audible CRACK over the sound of the city river.

Rival stood up slowly after picking up the paper he had dropped. Scrawled on it was "IOU 4 free drinks". As he moved to place this in his jacket pocket he froze.

"Shit!"

He spun rapidly. Down the street and on the left, staring out of an alleyway was a face. Shocked! Their eyes met for an instant before the witness took flight. Rival left the body behind without pause and ensued with unbelievable haste. The escapee had four! A damn Harvester!

"Bastard luck!" he groaned. He was in bad territory for this. It was THEIR territory. Any second now there will be more of them, he kept saying to himself.

Around the bend he could see his target running flat out in desperation to find a helping hand, knocking bins and bikes over in an attempt to slow him down. Rival kept him in sight, leapt the trammels without slowing and all the while he was thinking: Any second now...

The chase led around another bend into a large street. As Rival turned the corner he saw and immediatly kicked a bucket at the witness. Hitting him in the back of the legs he fell hard on the pavement tumbled over and began rising to his feet. Rival closed the distance.

The harvester threw a punch in desperation. Rival deflected it swiftly, kneed him hard in the stomach, twirled him around, grabbed his head and – CRACK.

He seized the body's arms and dragged it back into the alley. He stopped then and strained his senses for any sign of another approaching. There were none. He looted the corpse and left without delay.

He stopped running when he had put a few blocks between himself and the body and leant up against a wall. It had just been a kid. Not the first he had had to finish but still...it didn't go down as easy.

He found that he was extremely angry right now. This posed a problem. Anger disrupted the control over emotions thus jepordising any attempts to pull the blinds over the Harvesters senses.

"Damn it!" he growled, further boiling his blood. "I'll kill that Bastard. I swear I will..." a sick feeling came over him again. He was done hunting for the night.

A beggar in the gutter by the river was miserably trying to find comfort. He lay under a broken piece of slab which he had leant up against a wall in an alcove. It was very cold and provided little if no warmth. He muttered and grunted as he tossed and turned in his makeshift shelter unable to find a good position to lie.

"Rotten meals not comin cheap these days...lousy rats thinkin they faster than me...I know a thing or two about fightin' and I could kill them lousy Southeners...should check them Harvesters...yeah tomorrow..."

A small bag landed beside his head with a clang of coins. The bum seized it with both hands and rose to his feet, knocking his portable house over. He peered inside and yelped with shock at the shiny gold coins staring out at him. He ran to the middle of the street, searching for his saviour. A shadow was crossing the "Low Gate Bridge" dissapearing into the city gloom. It didn't hear his cry of thanks.

Nikki Soot, owner of her deceased father's inn, was sitting by the fire in the bar when the door creaked open softly. She turned a dissaproving eye to the face that appeared there.

"I should have locked the doors three hours ago." she said cooly, pouring a glass of wine. The face smiled apologetically and allowed it's body to accompany it through the door.

"But you didn't! And that's what's important. I'll take some of that while you're at it." the man said as he crossed the floor, over to where she sat.

"Oh you _will_, will you?" she smirked. The man pulled up a chair and let a small piece of paper drop onto her lap.

"Yes indeed! I'm claiming my first of four, thank you very much!". Nikki read the paper, scrunched it up and then threw it into the fire.

"Very well. But if you go and wake my customers, Rival, you can pay their fee."

Rival laughed joyously. "That would be if you had any my dear. You currently have an empty building!"

"How do you always know?" Nikki marvelled.

"Years of hard training and brutal exercises." was the quick reply.


End file.
